Silken
by Avium
Summary: [Brad x Aya] ~AU setting~ 2 hitmen, 1 target. Does it really matter who gets the kill? *Chapter 2 up*
1. Default Chapter

Silken

Disclaimers: If I owned Weiss Kreuz, I would have to bear the brunt of a million envious fans worldwide every single day, so I'm glad I don't.

Author: Avium

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: *under works*

Fic length: One-shot (?)

Timeline: AU

Author's note: Exam stress does funny things to Avium's head, especially in the area of pairings. Here's my first attempt at an AU Weiss Kreuz fanfic when I suddenly decided today that I wanted to see Aya and Brad in black suits and pointing guns at each other (and probably getting it on after that). Go me ^_^

Yes – Brad Crawford is Brad Crawford. I don't quite think his full name is Bradley, and if Brad is really the short form for his full name, there are easily 101 variations out there which I wouldn't have the time to run through ^_~

/ / - denotes thoughts

:: :: - denotes telepathic speeches

-@-@-@-@-

Brad Crawford hated the rain. Aside from the fact that it was cold and wet, it also had the nasty tendency to collect on the rim of his hat and dribble down the back of his collar. It was far from pleasant, especially when he was forced to stake out in the shadows of a graffiti-covered building at 2am in the morning. But the Naoe kid was pretty firm about it – get out there and get the job done, or he would find himself done in the moment he stepped out of the youngster's door. Nobody ever said that working for Nagi was an easy task, but they never told him that putting up with that kid's bad puns was part of the job requirements as well. He had to get a new prescription from his optician before he read his next contract, he decided.

Shifting uncomfortably against the fabric that had decided to attach itself firmly to his skin, Crawford reached into his trench coat and ran his hand along the cold metal of his handgun. The water on his hand had made the grip slippery, and automatically he gripped the jacket of his suit in an attempt to brush off the water droplets. Unfortunately for him, company outfits were made to be waterproof, so water never stayed on, but ironically they stayed in very, very well.

He was fucking sure that he would catch pneumonia by the end of the assignment – and he had better get a few days off for that.

Tucking himself deeper into the trench coat proved to be a mistake, because his warm breath gathered around his spectacles and caused them to fog up instantly. Irritated, he reached up and whipped his spectacles off and shoved them into his breast pocket. Schuldich had often asked him to get contact lenses; not only were they the 'in' thing, the German also figured that it would help him reel in a few pretty ladies. It would have been a fantastic suggestion, except for one thing – Crawford was allergic to the lens solution. 

::How are things over there, Brad?:: A certain redhead tapped into his mind without warning, causing him to lift his head up abruptly and in the same motion, empty a new load of rainwater down his collar.

::Schuldich! Stop stalking around in my head!:: Even though he had worked with the German for over 3 months, he was still not used to the latter's strange powers. His own brief flashes of precognition had never bothered him so much – they were only a passive ability and have been with him for so long that without them, he would have felt that an extremely vital part of Brad Crawford was missing. 

::I go where I want, Schätzchen.:: Crawford heard a mental chuckle from the other end before Schuldich spoke up again - ::The little Naoe is practically pissing in his pants waiting for you to report back. Why didn't he send the both of us out tonight, I wonder…?::

::Schuldich, may I point out to you that you don't need to wonder? Just go frolic in his head and leave me to get my job done.:: The raven-haired man shrugged against his trench coat uncomfortably yet again – he really had to get a change of clothes, and preferably soon. ::And stop calling me your sweetheart.::

::Touché.:: Crawford had no trouble visualising a pout on Schuldich's face at that moment. ::Well, you go have your fun – kill a few of those small fries for me, will you? And I'll just go savour a few sweet little treats for you…:: He was extremely grateful that the German had not decided to project an image of himself over at that moment. The last thing he needed to see at that moment was Schuldich indulging in his usual dose of raunchy loving…

::Farewell, mein Herr.:: A dismissive mental wave, and the connection was broken.

Crawford sighed, welcoming the silence that had settled over his mind straightaway. Sometimes he wondered why he had agreed to work under Nagi – not only was that little brunette a mere child suffering from those unpredictable teenage mood swings, he had a one heck of a trash-talker for a working companion. The moment he had walked into the office he was almost tackled by a reasonably large ball of fire who he was later introduced to as Schuldich. Guilty indeed… Had he not been trained to counter the move, he would have found himself down on the carpet face-first and his arms painfully pulled backwards – not the best way to make a first impression with your potential employer. Of course, sitting on a pinned-down Schuldich's back while the German screamed dirty did wonders for the size of Nagi's already large Spinel-blue eyes. From the looks that the kid was giving them, he was pretty sure Nagi had never expected Schuldich to be *that* noisy. 

Fortunately for them, Nagi was willing to overlook any weirdness in favour of his employee's abilities. It was a good thing too – Crawford needed a new employer after his last boss was mysterious murdered. Okay, so to the American maybe it wasn't so much of a mystery, but it was to the rest of the world, and that was good enough for him.

Lighting a cigarette, Crawford tipped his head forward slightly to prevent the rain from putting out the faint orange glow. A trickle of water now fell from the front of his hat instead; better than it all going down his suit at least. The smoke trailed lazily into the rain, the splattering moisture disintegrating the tiny billows of grey as soon as they left the shelter of the hat. Crawford coughed when some of the annoying particles travelled up his nostrils before he allowed the foul stick to drop from his lips and land on the ground softly. In the next moment the glow from the end of the cigarette was extinguished by the rain, leaving him in darkness once again. 

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on locating a vision from the depths of his mind. Five more minutes – that was how much longer he had to spend out in the rain before he could make his way into the building. It was not an easy job being a hitman, but at least he had his gift to fall back on – it had saved him from many a sticky situations, and he was sure it would do the same today as always.

After what seemed like an eternity under the beating droplets, he pulled back the sleeve of his coat to check his watch. The thin hands circled the watch face steadily, the normally loud ticking drowned out by the patters on the concrete ground. Crawford watched the second hand make its way halfway round the face before he pushed his sleeve back down and reached into his trench coat. His hand withdrew with the gun and a silencer. Proceeding as usual, he smoothly screwed the silencer onto the barrel before he made his way towards the backdoor of the building. He took care to avoid the few strong streetlights by pressing himself up against the cold wall – no point getting detected sooner than he needed to be.

He paused at the backdoor, somewhat surprised by the lack of guards patrolling the area. What that surprised him even more was the fact that the door was swinging slowly in the wind – a clear invitation if he ever saw one. Intelligence had warned him to be ready for a beefed-up security present to protect the transaction that was due to be carried out in the old warehouse. But if this was what they meant by beefed-up, Crawford had the sneaking suspicion that Schuldich must have been switching his mission files around *again*. 

The scent would have escaped a normal person, but not Crawford who had been in the trade for over a decade – gunpowder and blood. Faint and almost dispersed by the rain; but not quite. 

Squinting hard against the curtain of water, he located a body hastily thrown behind a stack of crates. While whomever that killed the door guards had some basic training, he was obviously far from being a profession. Given Crawford, he would have made the effort to drag those stone-cold buggers into the rubbish chute just a few feet away – it would make it less likely for anyone looking out from above to notice a few guys flat down on their faces. 

/Should I let Schuldich know?/ Crawford pondered on the possibility of contacting the German mentally, but pushed that thought out of his head almost at once – there wasn't very much that Schuldich could do for him then anyway… And if he were really unlucky, he would have to listen to that man describe his epic fornications in vivid detail – definitely not a good idea.

Frowning at the unforeseen situation, he darted over to the door and nudged it open with his leathered foot. A few moments passed before the raven-haired man decided to peer in. The lights were on, and an overhead lamp was still swaying gently as if rocked by an invisible breeze. It cast its glow back and forth the room, bringing Crawford's attention to the few bloodied corpses lying around, all posed in various degrees of retaliation. One of them still had his gun cocked in death – a bullet that never left the barrel lingering mocking. 

Crawford scowled – this was definitely something he had not expected to see. Closing his eyes, he reached out for another piece of the near future. A soft smirk touched his lips when he saw that he would be the one to kill the target in spite of the uninvited intruder, so there was no need to worry. Quietly, he removed his trench coat – once inside an enclosed space, it really proved it value at retaining heat, and the last thing he needed was for the wet material to disrupt his otherwise smooth aiming. The hat had to go too – and it was completely soaked-through. But the spectacles… Well, Crawford wasn't exactly as blind as a bat, but the extra precision would always come in useful.

The American scowled as he reached up to push wet bangs out from his eyes before deciding that he had more time to do that after the mission was over. Crawford held his gun at ready before he slowly ascended the wooden stairs. The creaking wood frayed on his nerves, and walking right along the wall didn't seemed to do the trick either. Oh well – it would just be too bad for anyone waiting for him around the corner…

Blood and gunpowder – the smell was somewhat washed away by the rain outside. Yet they registered heavily with the American as he crept his way towards the end of the 2nd floor, hinting at death and pain with each breath he drew. Of course, the corpses that he had to step over served their purpose well enough as a visual reminder too. Whoever that came in before him was probably one of those gung-ho little hoodlums – those type always preferred to leave behind a clear trail of destruction and gore. /Well, not that he is going to make it out of here alive if he went into all the rooms like this. What was he trying to do – gun down the entire company of goons?/ The first lesson in assassination had been in stealth, and nodding grimly, Crawford acknowledged the fact that very few people paid attention during the introductory lectures. Why was he not surprised to be the only one still alive after the first 3 years…?

He came to a stop in front of an opened door. There was no sign of life in the room – to the untrained eye at least. Releasing the safety catch on his handgun, he slid into the room, amber eyes never leaving the bullet-riddled table overturned to form a crude shield. Crawford smiled – this was almost too easy. With surprising confidence, he strode over to the table, gun held at ready. His eyes came to rest on a cowering figure tucked behind the table, a briefcase held over his head while his body shook violently in fear.

"Good day, Mr. Golding. I believe that you've been overlooked on the party guests list today…" Crawford took his time in addressing the whimpering figure – it wasn't everyday that he had a chance to drag out a kill, "I'm just going to rectify this in a moment…"

"It's… the money, is… isn't it?" He heard the man whimpered out, "I can doub… no, no – triple it! Just let me… let me go – PLEASE!"

"Why do you businessmen all say the same thing? Is this from the 'Managing Personal Crisis –What to Do in the Case of Attempted Assassination' module?" Crawford nonchalantly pushed his spectables higher up his face, his gun never leaving his target's head, "I don't want the filthy money you make from swindling old ladies and little babies. I'm only interested in your life blood – every last drop of it."

He never gave the man a chance to reply – there was no doubt that the fat fool would have tried that old "I've a wife and ten children!" bit on him as usual – so he pulled the trigger. Crawford frowned at the splatter of crimson across his leather shoes; Nagi wasn't going to be too pleased with the laundry bill after this. But no matter – the mission was over as far as he was concerned – now to report back to little Naoe and go back home to a warm cup of coff…

Everything unfolded so rapidly that Crawford just had time to leap over the table and thrust his gun forward. The silencer pressed firmly against the forehead of another man – a slightly shorter but equally built Asian. Had it not been the skin colour that gave away the nationality of the other man, the brilliant amethysts that glared back at him viciously would have baffled Crawford. And that hair colour – goodness, he was really dealing with a punk!

"Too slow, punk," Crawford smirked as he pressed his gun harder against the other man's forehead. He was keenly aware of the gun that was shoved against his heart at the same time – perhaps he had underestimated the man…

"You took my hit," the redhead glowered at him. If looks could kill, Crawford was sure that he must have been dead by then. It was a good thing that he was used to receiving such expressions in his line of work. Smirking, he addressed the stranger again, "I apologise, but he was my target as well. And I don't recall them telling us that we should ask fellow assassins if he wanted the first shot as a courtesy gesture…"

Both men remained locked in stalemate, neither willing to pull the trigger nor draw back their weapons. They had used the chance to assess each other physically, trying to estimate their chances of getting away alive if they fired their guns. From the way that their guns were positioned, it was safe to assume that neither party would walk out alive if they pulled their triggers simultaneously. 

"You want some advice, boy?" Crawford was the first to break the silence, "Don't waste your time going for the lowly goons. This is not Unreal Tournament – you don't get bonuses for racking up the most kills. Just go in and get the job done. You might still have had the chance to get to Mr. Golding first." /That is, if you even stood a chance against me in the first place…/

The redhead growled, but said nothing. Crawford cocked an eyebrow in surprise when the man made the first move by pulling back his gun, lowering it to show that he had no offensive intentions. Satisfied when the handgun had disappeared into the latter's blood-stained black jacket, Crawford withdrew his weapon with deliberate slowness, his aim still firmly locked on the redhead. "New to the game, boy?" The raven-haired man asked as he finally brought his gun out of its violative posture. 

"Fujimiya Aya."

"Pardon?"

"Fujimiya Aya – that's my name. Stop calling me 'boy'," There was an undignified tone in the redhead's voice. To this Crawford allowed one eyebrow to be raised slightly in amusement. /This boy trusts too much…/

"Crawford. It's been far from a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fujimiya," Crawford held out his hand in a mock gesture of a handshake. Aya glared at him suspiciously before gripping his hand in a brief handshake. The touch had been electrifying – Aya's hand cold and clammy with exertion while Crawford's was still warm from the recent kill. 

Crawford used this chance to study the man further – given his name, he knew that he was dealing with a Japanese (probably a hitman as well, but seeing the way that he ploughed through his targets, he could have been a lumberjack for all he knew…). This boy had one of the strangest hair colours he had seen in a long time – blood red. He had never seen anyone with hair of such a shade, especially when it looked so natural. And those eyes – so unusual a purple that he wondered if Aya wore contact lenses instead…

"I'm guessing that this is your first time, Fujimiya. Just go home and tell your boss that you took him down – they won't bother with little details like who took him down. They usually just want the guy dead, and he is dead – lucky you," the raven-haired man threw a knowing smirk at the Japanese. "It's been nice knowing you, Fujimiya. Let's not do this again – ever."

There was no way that Aya would shoot him – Crawford saw it in those eyes. Coolly, he walked out of the room and headed downstairs, remembering to retrieve his hat and trench coat on his way out. He never heard Aya following after him, but it didn't bother him.

/Most strange a night, really./

Crawford quietly closed the door behind him as he exited the warehouse. He carefully replaced his handgun inside his trench coat before tucking his hands into his pockets and walked away from the building.

/It appears that we might cross paths again, Fujimiya. And I won't be so kind the next time…/

~ End?

-@-@-@-@-

Author's notes: Yes… It's the ending XD Like I said, I wrote this to relieve my exam stress. I may or may not continue with this fanfic, because I really don't have much of an idea how I want this fanfic plotted out. And my muses are not really obedient either…

No, don't pester me to continue with this (who the hell reads this stuff anyway?) – I'll continue with it if I do feel like doing so.


	2. Chapter 2

Silken ~ Chapter 2 

Disclaimers: I have enough change in my pocket right now for a cup of coffee – will that help my "Buy Weiss from Koyasu fund"? I don't think so. Still, I can buy a cup of caramel frappuccino XD

Author: Avium 

Rating: PG-13 

Pairings: *under works* 

Fic length: 2/? 

Timeline: AU 

Author's note: There, I bucked under the pressure – here is the 2nd chapter of 'Silken'. You people are crazy, you know, but I can't choose my readers ^_~

Word of warning – if you think the first chapter was enough (i.e. a sufficient ending), then do NOT read the rest of this series. I can assure you one thing – it won't be pretty.

_italics _= denotes flashback

~~ ~~ = denotes Crawford's visions

-@-@-@-@- 

"Yeah, I'll have one of those Rhuuuuumba Frappuccinos, please." Insert typical Schuldich leer. 

Crawford uncomfortably plucked at his collar, adjusting the tiny company pin with tense fingers. He attributed his agreement to join the German for lunch to a moment of insanity. Of course, Schuldich had played dirty too… 

_"Hey Brad, can I borrow a pen?" _

_"Yes."_

_"Can I take some of your printing paper?" _

_"Yes." _

_  
"Will you join me for lunch?" _

_  
"Yes." _

_"HA!" _

He reminded himself that the next time Schuldich were to come into his office, he would have to listen to what he said more carefully. He preferred to eat alone, which meant that the company canteen was strictly out of question. Schuldich's ploy, he figured, was to get him out for a bite so he could see Brad Crawford chewing his food – something which he could safely say no one in the company had seen before...

::Nein, liebe. I'm not half as crazy as you make me out to be. My sole intention is to spend some quality time with you.::

::At Starbucks?::

::Hey, the coffee is good:: Schuldich's continued grinning was beginning to wear on his nerves. ::And besides, you know the ladies here are such pretty little things…::

Crawford frowned, reaching up to push his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, "I'm at a loss on what to say to the likes of you, Schuldich." This only made the fire-haired German grin even wider – "I'll take that as a compliment, liebe."

::Stop calling me your 'lover'!:: Schuldich turned his attention back to the counter, his eyes following the movement of the girl that was preparing his drink. But his train of thought remained with Crawford - ::What's the big deal, Brad? This is Japan – how many of them here understand German?::

::I have you to know that when people learn a foreign language, they usually learn 2 kinds of words ahead of all others – swear words and words for romancing.::

::Ja, ja… You worry too much, liebe. Just take your sandwich and go find a table, will you?::

Crawford wasn't used to being ordered around, but for once he was glad to do just as Schuldich had instructed – it would give him a moment of much-welcomed respite from that walking hormone. He would have picked a table in the corner: away from the crowd passing by outside and allowing him to blend in with the rest of the patrons. It was painfully obvious that he wasn't Japanese from his height alone, and the comments that he kept getting from the locals all ran along the same line – "Oooo… You Americans are so tall! Do you play for the NBA?" Unfortunately, all the corner tables were taken up already, leaving him with only one choice – the table against the glass wall along the pavement where a thousand Japanese walked pass every minute.

There were 2 choices: the first was to continue standing while waiting for a customer to leave, but being 190cm tall meant that his presence would come off intimidating more than anything else. The other was to take the table that was clearly placed there for passer-bys to ogle at. Deciding that he didn't want to get thrown out for scaring the customers, Crawford resigned to his Fate and took the seat.

It was only good manners to wait for his dining companion to arrive before he tucked in, so Crawford waited in silence. One backward glance brought to his attention the fact that Schuldich was busy chatting up the girl despite his pasta and frappuccino sitting at the collection counter already. /Damn, is there no way to stop him from trying to get lucky with every girl around?/

Somewhat miffed, Crawford picked up his coffee and took a sip from it. Starbucks coffee in Japan tasted different from that in America. Then again, so did the McDonald's burgers. He didn't know which one he preferred, but at the moment, he was too busy concentrating on not losing his temper to really ponder such philosophical questions.

~~ A flash of blood red… deep, simmering pools of amethysts… sitting across the table… staring right back at him… ~~

The suddenness of the vision startled Crawford. He almost lost his grip on the handle of his cup, but regained his composure in time to spill but a few drops onto his sandwich. He had almost complete control of the coming and going of his visions, and rarely did they actively seek him out. Such sudden visions always left him feeling a little light-headed, as if he didn't know if he were dreaming or awake. And the fact that he saw the assassin whom he had met a few weeks ago…

"Hey, Brad. You okay?"

Looking up, Crawford saw the German staring at him. His glance was akin to that of a curious scientist as he studied Crawford. He quickly clamped his lips back together, having unconsciously left his jaw unhinged during the vision. "I'm fine, Schuldich. It's just a vision." There was no need to talk so discreetly about his gift – no one was paying any attention to them. That was one thing Crawford liked about city life – no one seemed to pay attention to anyone. Soulless, perhaps, but definitely good for some privacy.

He watched as Schuldich tugged at his suspenders before sitting himself down across him. /Weren't those things out of fashion for ages? Why does he wear that stuff? It's not as if his pants are going to fall down without them…/ And when coupled with the German's crisp white business shirt and pants, the black suspenders came off as strangely mismatched with the rest of his outfit. He wore the same attire as Schuldich, only without the suspenders and he still had his jacket with him. He watched as Schuldich toyed with the company pin on his collar before he tugged it off and dropped it into his breast pocket.

"Damn company pin – weighs down my collar," with that, Schuldich unbuttoned the top 2 buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves before picking up the fork to start on his meal. Crawford said nothing the entire time – he decided that he was simply witnessing the eating habit of the 'Schuldichian' species, and it was mildly entertaining to say the least.

"I cannot believe that you simply walked out for a lunch like this. You're replacing Farfarello as Mr. Naoe's full-time bodyguard, and you just left him just like that," Crawford sighed before he started on his own food, eyes fixed on Schuldich to watch for any reactions. Schuldich looked up, one strand of spaghetti dangling out of his mouth while he replied (much to the distress of Crawford, whose eyes followed the movement of that single strand involuntarily as if under a spell the entire time) – "It's not official yet, Brad. You know our job description – we clean up his 'issues' for him, watch that no one offends him… But you can bet that it'll be a full-time job once Nagi enters politics. It'll be soon enough, seeing how the management is pressing for him to do that like his old man once did."

The dedicated salary man role was easy enough for Crawford to pull off. It simply because he had the looks of a diligent worker (he would deck the first person to say that outright, though), carried a suit off decently and acted well enough to look like a casual high positioned employee and yet not arouse suspicion on his real job – to protect Nagi and take out problem-makers for the company or the kid himself. Schuldich, on the other hand, was a little too noisy to play the role, so it was made very clear that the German was Nagi's bodyguard right from the start – just as it was with Nagi's father.

"What about Naoe senior? Why did he let his son take over so soon?" Crawford couldn't resist asking those questions. He knew that Schuldich had served Nagi's father as a bodyguard 2 years before the man's death, and he was admittingly rather curious as to why someone as young as Nagi took over the software company instead of it being entrusted to the board of directors until the boy came of age. Schuldich sucked in the hypnotising strand before he reached for his coffee and took a good, long sip from it – he had to take a few moments to arrange the facts out in his head before presenting them.

"Shit happens, Brad. Nagi's father was in politics as well, and what I can tell you is that the bills that he got passed benefited the software industry to no end. Well, most of the benefits his own company reaped, of course. You can say that it was out of fear of a politically-motivated assassination that he hired bodyguards for himself and his son. His wife? Died during labour of his second kid and left him alone with Nagi," Schuldich used the chance to steal a piece of lettuce from Crawford's plate and shoved it into his mouth before he continued, "Anyway, he got Farfarello and me to look at his son and him respectively. But Fate doesn't work that way – I've done his dirty work for him, walked by his side for 2 years and not a single attempt on his life. In the end, he died of cancer. Talk about shit… Anyway, that was about a year ago. Don't ask me why he willed the company to his son for immediate takeover – he must have bent a few laws along the way to get that done. But anyhow, he said Nagi would take over the company at once, and that the boy did. Ruthless efficiency and a real knack for programming and hacking got his company this far. Now they want him back in the political arena like his father."

It wasn't hard to visualise Nagi as the director of one of the most prominent software companies in Japan. He might look small and almost delicate when sitting behind his huge desk or during television interviews, but his eyes shone with an intensity that Crawford never knew a 15 year old boy could possess. There was a dangerous intelligence behind those eyes, and Crawford respected them as Schuldich did. When the kid talked, he meant business – few were stupid enough to not listen to him. Those few were no more by now, naturally.

::Farfarello… Have they found out what happened to him?:: Crawford was never fond of that Irish, regarding him as a madman more than a professional bodyguard. He had only seen Farfarello once or twice, but it was enough to cultivate a surge of wariness whenever the Irish appeared in the same room as him. Crawford had also noticed how Nagi seemed more edgy with the Irish around him, despite the fact that Farfarello had proven to be an incorruptible bodyguard. But his father had handpicked the Irish to look after him, so the young man simply accepted his Fate.

::Gott knows – haven't seen him in over 2 months. Your guess is as good as mine:: Schuldich licked at the frappuccino's straw absentmindedly while observing Crawford with glinting tanzanites.

A small nod as Crawford acknowledged that his gut feeling was shared. ::Then he is dead.:: The redhead sucked on the straw, rolling his eyes back as if deep in thought - ::Like I said – Gott knows.::

Crawford abhorred guessing games, and he knew Schuldich was playing such a game with him at this moment. ::So they never found his body?:: Schuldich shook his head, scowling a little as he replied ::Well, if you can still call it a 'body'… I didn't see it, but Nagi did. I saw his mental projection of the carnage and damn… I don't think I want my pasta anymore, Brad.::

::Why would someone want to kill Farfarello?::

::Probably because they wanted to get Nagi. There were too many memories left on the scene when I went there after they took all the bodies away. Like fingerprints memories are unique to an individual, but Farfarello's killers all shared a common goal – to remove Nagi's bodyguards one by one.::

::So… we're at risk too.:: To Crawford's statement Schuldich flashes a feral grin. "Not scared are you, Brad?" Tanzanites flashed knowingly at silent ambers.

"It's my job to look after his welfare, Schuldich, even if my work is focused more on the 'issues' side than being a bodyguard. And I plan to do just that even with such risks facing me," the last of the meal was finished along with the coffee, but questions continued to linger at the back of Crawford's head, "Will there be someone to replace Farfarello?"

Schuldich shrugged, "I've heard some talk about it, but Nagi is keeping it all under wraps. Now, if he gets a lady as his bodyguard…"

::I am very sure that Nagi would approve of sexual relationships on the job, Schuldich.:: The thought was laced with sarcasm, and Schuldich pouted at it – ::You can't blame me for hoping.::

Crawford sighed and turned towards the glass panes to watch the crowd drift by – ladies with their shopping bags, men in their suits, school girls with their Hello Kitty-adorned bags and a certain young redhead with purple eyes…

Wait.

Redhead with purple eyes.

The said redhead was walking along the pavement slowly; hands tucked into his pocket as he walked near the glass, almost as if he were trying to clean it with the right side of his body. His training made him fiercely aware of eyes suddenly laid upon him, and in an instant he had stopped and spun around to face Crawford.

Amethysts into ambers and back – both disbelieving and hard with caution.

Surprised to see such an expression on his companion's face, Schuldich turned to follow his line of vision and came face-to-face with the redhead outside as well. Schuldich assessed the young man's appearances – he was wearing a light blue shirt and black pants with a jacket slung over his shoulders; basically looking like some young upstart. The blood red hair and purple eyes, however, seemed to tell an entirely different story. After a moment or two, the German decided that the staring game between Crawford and the man outside could go on forever if he didn't do something, so cough loudly he did.

"Listen, Brad. I'm just going to go try and get me a free refill," Schuldich grinned knowingly at him before he pushed his chair backwards and walked over to the counter where the blushing girl was waiting.

The American frowned at the poor excuse and nodded to him before he returned his attention to the young man outside. After a moment of tense silence, he made a gesture towards the now empty seat across him and mouthed to him reassurance that he wasn't carrying an offensive weapon with him. The redhead seemed to ponder a little before he finally decided that he would be in no danger of being shot during the busy lunch hour and headed for the entrance to the coffee joint.

Crawford watched as Aya approached the table, paying attention to each footfall and hearing them as they echoed thunderously inside his head. The redhead might be young, but he had a dangerous air about him, akin to that of a predatory panther stealing towards its prey silently. It was reflected even more when the said figure was attired in a business suit, amethysts locked on the American's hand as he approached to watch for any sudden movements that might prove deadly if unnoticed. In spite of all these Crawford remained unfazed – he had bested Aya during the previous encounter, and from the slight outline of the approaching figure, he could not make out a concealed weapon on any part of his body – there was no need to harbour unnecessary fear.

A soft scrapping of the chair legs against the floor, and Aya sat down on the wooden surface.

"Mr. Fujimiya, isn't it?" It was a redundant question, but it served as a good icebreaker. Aya simply dropped his head down on his propped up hands and closed his eyes, acknowledging Crawford's statement with silent affirmation. To Crawford this was a waiting game more than a conversation, and the American folded his arms across his chest to reflect Aya's attitude. Crawford had received professional training in negotiation, and if there was one thing that he was sure of, it was that he had the patience to out-wait the other party in such a situation.

…

/Dum de dum…/

…

::Your friend is pretty quiet, isn't he?:: Schuldich spoke at the back of his head. This invoked Crawford to turn around to see what the German was up to. Schuldich was standing at the serving counter, grinning with a new cup of frappuccino raised triumphantly. The American shook his head at the sorry display, causing Aya to open his eyes and look up as he sensed movement across the table.

"Is he your friend?" The redhead spoke up at last, drawing Crawford's attention back to himself. The raven-haired man studied the expression of wary curiosity on Aya's face for a second before he replied, "A colleague, actually."

As expected, Aya had tensed up immediately upon hearing the news. Knowing that the situation might get blown out of proportion, he nodded to Schuldich and added, "He's not carrying anything, as you can probably tell. Except for that coffee in his hand and the… Starbucks girl in the other." The second part of the sentence had come out in a surprised tone. It appeared that Schuldich was going to have things his way as usual, seeing how he was heading towards the restrooms with the blushing female held firmly in his grasp.

Crawford could feel a headache coming on, and he hated getting headaches. /What am I supposed to tell Nagi after I return from lunch alone?/ ::Have no fear, liebe. I'll be done in a jiffy.:: Any further sound effects or mental images that came from Schuldich after that thought came through were put on automatic smut filter.

"So you are both…?" began Aya, suspicion lacing his tone as he spoke. "I could ask the same thing of you, Mr. Fujimiya. Where do you work? Don't tell me you work in a flower shop in that suit," the raven-haired man pointed his chin at Aya's attire, amber eyes still fixed on the Japanese. It made his look arrogant and a little snobbish, with his arms folded across his chest and his face arranged in an unreadable fashion. To this Aya scowled, but decided that there was no way he could walk out of the situation just like that – it would only make future encounters harder to swallow.

Aya reached for the daisy sitting in the thin white vase and ran his fingers along the petals absentmindedly as he spoke, "Actually, I am a bodyguard for Mr. Takatori." "Takatori?" Crawford cocked an eyebrow in mild surprise, "The politician?" /So what is this? The annual gathering of the bodyguards at Starbucks for a cuppa?/

Aya simply nodded. Crawford realised that the latter seemed to be waiting for a reply from him, so he granted it – "Schuldich and I work for the Naoe Software Development Company." There was no need to furnish Aya with further details on their exact positions – it didn't look as if the redhead cared anyway. "Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr. Fujimiya?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Crawford." The American winced at the formality used to address him, and then spoke up when the realisation dawned upon him, "I suppose you would prefer that I address you by your first name, Aya?" The word rolled off his tongue, leaving a strange aftertaste; it wasn't everyday that you get to refer to your occupational rival by his first name, especially if he tried to kill you previously…

Aya said nothing, and instead added a question of his own, "So is it still Crawford? Or Crawford Crawford?" A ghost of a smile played on Aya's lips as he mused over the small joke he made over Crawford's first name; or maybe that smile was more due to Crawford stiffening across him in anger. Either way, he had gotten his point across – that it was about time Crawford gave him his full name as he had done when they first met.

"It's Brad Crawford, but I would much rather you call me Crawford, least I have to 'convince' you that I don't like it when people address me as 'Brad'." Aya said nothing, but from those amethysts alone, Crawford knew that the latter understood him perfectly.

A series of loud raps against the glass startled both of them to awareness at once. Standing outside the shop and with a grin plastered across his face was a brunette with slightly longish hair; his eyes squeezed shut in a friendly expression. Crawford and Aya both gaped at the figure outside for a moment before Aya regained his composure and smiled to the man outside, signalling to him to come in. The brunette grinned even wider and dove right for the door, practically bouncing as he made his way up to them.

"Hey Aya, what are you doing here? We've got to get back to work soon!" A hand was laid on the redhead's shoulder, eliciting a soft smile from Aya. Crawford stared for a moment at the smile – it was a layered smile, each level containing more secrets than the previous. It was the kind of smile that was built upon a cavern of inner demons… and Crawford felt the sudden surge of desire to uncover the secrets behind it…

"Who's this, Aya?" Turquoise eyes turned to face Brad Crawford, and the American decided to take charge of the introductions. He unfolded his arms and put his hand forward, "Crawford." He could have sworn he saw Aya rolling his eyes at the thinly veiled secrecy that he had chosen to adopt. But eye rolling didn't seem the sort of thing for someone like Aya to do, so it was dismissed in an instant. The brunette's smile lessened somewhat, but he still took the American's hand in a firm handshake. "Hidaka Ken. Nice to meet you. You 2 knew each other long?"

"Just acquaintances." Both parties spoke up at the exact same moment, causing them to turn to each other and frown. Ken snickered softly before he tapped his watch, "Well, sorry to have to break up the conversation, but me and Aya have got to fly for a meeting. Maybe you can call Aya on his handphone later, huh?" Ken's grasp on Aya's shoulder tightened slightly before he made a slight jerk to signal to his colleague their need to leave. Crawford nodded and raised one hand slightly as he bade them farewell.

Quiet as ever, Aya rose from his seat and walked away – a single backward glances thrown at Crawford as they walked out of the shop. Amethysts glowed briefly before they were swallowed by the street packed with a flood of passer-bys. It was only then did Crawford realised that he didn't have Aya's handphone number…

/Why do I even care anyway?/

Crawford didn't notice that his eyes were still following after the ghost of the 2 men until Schuldich came by and smacked his hand soundly. The American responded by drawing his hand back, an offended look marring his features. There was another more pressing concern, though, as he flexed his fingers and shook them in a disgusted manner – "Did you even wash your hands?"

"Hey Brad – 'Essence of Schuldich'. I bet it sells, okay?" Schuldich threw his a positively lecherous leer, clearly enjoying the look of horror etched across his companion's face. "Schuldich!!" The German grinned and raised both hands slightly, showing off the clean palms, "Relax, Brad. I don't make it a habit to carry around the traces of sweet loving – spoils my chances for the next hit!"

Crawford had a funny feeling that Schuldich wasn't referring to a mission.

"So… who was that redhead?" Schuldich took back his seat, clearly looking very satisfied with whatever he had just received from the pretty lady.

Crawford shook his head – "No one important."

::You're a bad liar, liebe.::

Crawford frowned, but didn't reply – he preferred not to entertain Schuldich's curiosity because he knew how capable the German was when it came to picking up details. Especially right from his head. So the longer a conversation ran, the more likely he was to give away something that he didn't plan on revealing. It was best not to mention too much for now.

"We should get back – it's 2pm already," Crawford pulled back his sleeve to check the time on his watch. Schuldich began straightening up his clothes, finally looking as almost immaculate as Crawford did. Well, *almost*… He stood up and waved to the girl who had now returned to her work post, and a deep pink flush was her reply. Crawford sighed, removing his glasses and cleaning them with a corner of his jacket before he replaced them and headed for the door. The German ducked beside and grinned as they filed into the streets, shoulders jostling with that of complete strangers' as they headed back towards the towering grey building. He loved poking fun at Crawford, especially when the American was being stuffier than usual. 

"Hey Brad – tell me more about him later, okay?"

"No."

"Hey, I know – you should ask him out for lunch at Starbucks again and share a Rhuuuuuuuuuuubma Frappuccino!"

"Schuldich?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

~ End chapter 2

-@-@-@-@-

Author's notes: Like I said – it won't be pretty if I were to continue with this. You know, there is a potential for Ranken or BradKen or BradSchu here too. Hmmmm… Also, I believe I am using Gluhen Ken's design instead. Damn, but he's HOT there XD XD

Anyway – I prefer caramel frappuccinno, but Rhuuuuuuuuumba XD


End file.
